


The Problem with Freddie's Mouth

by eatthebunny



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hannilounds, brief masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatthebunny/pseuds/eatthebunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>S1, E2 - Amuse-Bouche</i><br/>Freddie is caught recording Hannibal's session with Will. </p><p>What if, instead of patting the couch next to him after he has taken her purse, Hannibal pats his lap?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem with Freddie's Mouth

Dr. Lecter sat down on the antique Queen Anne couch and plucked the recording device out of Freddie's purse. Looking down at it in subtle disdain, he set the black leather bag aside and lifted his eyes to Freddie's.

"Come sit with me, Miss Lounds," he said; Dr. Lecter's hand hovered over his lap before very deliberately patting it. Freddie's heart skittered, and she felt her face grow hot. Swallowing quickly, the canny journalist lifted her chin a little; usually this kind of tacky approach made her bite back a laugh. 

Usually.

"Why, Dr. Lecter, I do believe you're suggesting something rather inappropriate," she replied, her smile coy. She heard a small note of uncertainty in her voice and winced inwardly. What was it about Hannibal Lecter that had her on edge? Taking a deep breath, she tried to slow her pulse. The doctor was staring at her with a blandly serene look, his head tilted slightly; he was just a man, just a fool like all the rest, and using sex as a tool was something Freddie was very, very good at. 

Perhaps she would get out of this fix unscathed and learn a little more about Will Graham after all.

However, when Dr. Lecter patted his lap again with a large, veined hand, she again felt strangely unsure of herself. The words that the man had used to demand Freddie's purse earlier came back to her: _I'd rather not take it from you_. Said with a cool certainty, they hinted at someone capable of deliberate violence. Shrugging off the disquiet she felt, Freddie took a few obedient steps forward, smoothing the shiny oxblood skirt down behind her as she turned to perch the edge of her bottom on the doctor's knees. The man had long legs and despite the height of her heels, Freddie found herself unbalanced, having to keep one foot on the ground.

The man reached around her to hold the voice recorder up, and she took it hesitantly, confused. When Dr. Lecter grasped her around the waist to slide her back forcefully against him, Freddie let out a surprised gasp. The move had caused her to widen her legs to either side of his knees so that her heels were off the floor; Freddie felt at a complete disadvantage. Dr. Lecter smoothed the skirt down over her thigh, fingertips barely brushing her blood-red lace stockings, before reaching up to tap the device in her hand.

"Delete the conversations you recorded," he said in a low voice, the fingers of his other hand touching her curls softly. "Doctor-patient confidentiality works both ways." When Freddie stared down at the audio recorder in her hand and made no move to obey, Dr. Lecter's fingers tangled in her hair and tugged gently. "Delete it," he repeated. After a heartbeat he added "Please." 

Furrowing her brow, Freddie looked at the device. It held some very juicy information about the special investigator; however, something about Dr. Lecter's tone sent a thrill of fear through her. The subtle danger of the situation was causing her pulse to jump, and she was sure that the doctor could feel her heart racing. Licking her lips, she thumbed the delete button, exhaling hard as she did so. Freddie then closed her eyes and waited. 

"You've been terribly rude, Miss Lounds," Dr. Lecter purred softly, his mouth close to her ear. "What's to be done about that?" 

Freddie felt a hot rush of blood at his words, her heartbeat crashing suddenly loud in her ears. The small, wanton sound that escaped from her lips was completely involuntary as he dropped the recorder on the sofa to stroke her thigh, his large hand sliding slowly up under her skirt; her brow creased as she felt his warm, even breath against her neck. 

He was not panting and pawing at her like most men; in fact it was she who found herself leaning into him. Dr. Lecter was calm and collected, his fingers just short of touching where she felt a growing wet heat. She swallowed hard and took a shuddering breath.

Freddie felt completely disgusted by herself. Sex was _her_ power. It was only the weak that let themselves become slaves to base wants. Yet, here she was, spreading her thighs a little wider for the doctor, inviting him to touch her. It was going terribly wrong, but she couldn't stop herself. With only a few words and touches, he was unravelling her.

"You are a naughty girl," said Dr. Lecter, stroking the side of her neck slowly with cool fingers. "And, I do believe you rather like being a naughty girl, don't you?" His voice was a low rumble against her back, a soft sigh in her ear. She licked her lips. Naughty girl... she _was_ a naughty girl. 

No one had called her that in a very long time. 

Realizing he wanted an answer, she nodded quickly. Shifting her hips slightly, Freddie tried to make contact with his hand, tried to make him move his fingers against her. In response, Dr. Lecter just squeezed her thigh again and moved his hand away to rest lightly against her knee. With a little dismayed exhale, Freddie opened her eyes and rolled her hips back a little. She noticed then that the doctor wasn't even aroused; there was no telltale hardness against her ass. Her cheeks coloured, and she felt herself tense; was she not attractive to him? 

A moment later, however, her breath caught in her throat when Dr. Lecter spoke again, his voice a low growl.

"I love punishing naughty girls. Shall I punish you, Miss Lounds?" asked the doctor, the tips of his fingers running along the line of her jaw, making her tilt her head back. What did he mean? Would he close his hand around her throat? Would he make her beg? Freddie felt herself get embarrassingly wet, the crotch of her panties slick against her as she shifted. 

"Yes..." she whispered. Freddie realized that she wanted this, and it bolstered her, making her words bold, almost teasing. "Please punish me. Will you fuck me hard, doctor? Make me call you dadd—"

Before she had a chance to continue, Dr. Lecter shoved her off his lap hard, and she landed with a thump on the slate-grey wood floor. The breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she coughed in surprise.

"What the fuck?" Freddie asked, her blue eyes wide as she turned her head to look up at him. Dr. Lecter stood slowly, his bowed upper lip curled in a sneer. 

"Such language, Miss Lounds," he said, dark eyes deeply shadowed as he shook his head and tutted. "Such rude language... I cannot abide it."

Freddie swivelled to watch the doctor, her heart hammering in her chest, as he walked unhurriedly across to his desk, reaching out to pick up something that flashed in the light of the lamp. Turning and coming back slowly towards her, Dr. Lecter held up the scalpel between thumb and forefinger for her to see, a slow smile spreading across his face. Freddie felt her pulse hitch with sudden fright; she knew she no longer had any control over the situation. 

It aroused her even more.

Dr. Lecter placed one glossy brown dress shoe against the shoulder of her blazer and slowly pushed her backwards. 

"Who are you?" Freddie whispered softly as she lay back on the floor, her knees up and thighs parted. The doctor cocked his head slightly, eyes sparkling with merriment.

"I am a fan of yours, Miss Lounds," Dr. Lecter said softly, his lips curling into a smile. "It's just a shame that my latest work won't be featured on your website. Somewhat amusing, don't you think?" 

As he clamped his big hand over her mouth, Freddie felt a trembling heat swell inside her, and she quickly lifted her skirt with a shaking hand, her fingers fumbling beneath the waistband of her stockings. Closing her eyes tight, she slid her hand into her panties, plunging two fingers inside herself, up to the second knuckle. She was wet and oh so very close. 

When the Chesapeake Ripper leaned in and parted the flesh of Freddie's throat with his sharp blade, the soft, gurgling groan that escaped from her open windpipe was one of deep pleasure, her body twitching and shuddering violently beneath his hands before growing soft and finally still.


End file.
